Less is More (Except When it Isn't)
by Reyuna Yukimura
Summary: In which James Bond is emotionally stunted and actually sucks in social situations while not on a mission. Q is the one stuck putting up with it because everyone seems to think that it's his job. Also, he and Bond are going steady apparently. But that's neither here nor there. James Bond/Q. Slash. Now with additional ficlets.
1. Less is More (Except When it Isn't)

I couldn't help myself ;_; I saw the movie and this happened. I have no excuse. But seriously, Bond and Q are like, married forever type of couple, ok? Legit. all that snark.

Um, some quick things- I left female M alive because I just love her, a, and b, there is a line in this fic that I just had to use. I would have cried if I hadn't. Also, there is some OOC. There are some discrepancies in there too, by the way, because I love Bond but I was basically too excited to really research before typing. I made Bond 40 (because that's how old Daniel Craig is) and you, numerous other discrepancies. Whatever.

OH, this fic is also unbeta'd currently _ I was too excited to put it up and I wasn't going to ruin Ferrari's Thanksgiving for fic. She'll beta it later and then I'll replace it! So yes. I'm sure there were some other things I wanted to tell you, but I forget what they are. **No wait, those things where it looks like -w-o-r-d-? pretend those are strikethroughs!** FF doesn't let me do ANYTHING.

On a final note, check out our Tumblr! We love hearing from you! We're thetwowriters!

* * *

Bond, Q supposes, is a proven 'suave man,' with enough charm and grace to seduce an _enemy _and leave them wanting more, as he's shown to do on more than one occasion.

Also, as much as Q would never say it out loud, Bond is a brave man, a strong man- one who can take apart and put a gun back together in less than five seconds if he's in the mood to show off or not die. He's the kind of person who could get out of the stickiest of situations with nothing but a paperclip and a small rock, and come out of it with as big an underreaction as he could.

Case in point, how the man always runs away from doctors while bleeding profusely from some gaping hole or other, calling out that it's, 'but a flesh wound,' before taking off and leaving everyone else in the dust.

He's got biting wit. He's a mystery wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a sort of glittery charm that makes him the most desirable, suave person to ever exist, as Tumblr would say, since ever.

So why is it, Q has to wonder as he watches the man wield a laptop _like a club_, that all of that promptly disappears the second he steps into Q Branch?

"Seriously?" he asks, sighing and pinching his nose in a (once again) failed attempt to ward off the killer headache that goes hand in hand with contemplating James Bond. "In what way was it necessary to throw your state of the art, _one of a kind_, laptop at a supposed enemy's _head _instead of just bloody shooting them?"

Bond just grunts and shrugs before thrusting said laptop (now destroyed, of course) under Q's nose. "Ingrate," he says, acting mortally offended even though the situation warrants no such thing. "I saved your life from an unknown assailant. I am your God."

Q just sighs again, barely resisting the urge to bash his own head into a wall. "No," he says, gritting his teeth to keep back some of the more colorful words from popping out if his mouth. "No. You do not get to sail on by on that excuse this time, understood?"

"She was standing too close. What was I to do when an unknown assailant was in your personal space and clearly poised for some sinister attack?"

"What on earth," is all Q manages to get out before he has to stop and breath so that he doesn't end up spewing invective left right and center and, consequently, setting a bad example for his little intern kiddies.

"That was not, as you say" he says a good few minutes later, pausing to make the necessary air quotes even as he starts to really get on a roll, "an unknown assailant."

"That was _Tina_, the new _intern_, who was introduced to the entirety of the staff in an attempt to prevent certain agents, like _you_, from doing _things_, like throwing _laptops at her head_, that would otherwise cause her bodily harm."

What is his life, that he _actually _means multiple people when he says that? As in, more than James Bond, as though he alone weren't bad enough to give the steadiest of people the most of raging of ulcers.

Bond just shrugs nonchalantly in response, although there's some tension settling into his frankly huge shoulders, like he's _unhappy_.

"I was in _Bolivia_," he says, doing something funky with his eyebrows that's probably supposed to convey something meaningful. "Getting _shot at._ By _drug cartels_. I almost _died_. I'm afraid that I simply didn't have the time to attend any meetings in the middle of _running for my life_ and _saving the world_."

Q just waves him off because a) Bond does that sort of thing every other week, just for fun, even though he knows that his poor, overworked quartermaster and overlord _-w-o-r-r-i-e-s- _loses sleep over each piece of destroyed equipment, and b-

"Still not an excuse. This was two weeks after the fact." Q says, squinting at the incorrigible man in front of him, trying to psychically beat sense into his head.

Said man just coughs a little, and Q can't be sure but that almost looks like a _pout_. "I almost _died_." Bond says managing to make it sound like a trump-all and a petulant declaration all at once. He's also looking at Q as though he's a puppy-kicker, or perhaps a baby-killer, for not putting one of his many near-death experiences above the first one ever for the new intern.

Said intern who's probably scarred for life now, oh dear lord- Q can just imagine the sort of paperwork he'll have to do when she inevitably needs a psych eval and the requisite therapy sessions. It'll be a bleeding _nightmare_.

But of course, he can't really _say _that, so he just sighs again and just says instead, "You threw a laptop at her head."

Bond just grunts, definitely looking unhappy now.

"Why can't you just admit that what I did was in the interest of protecting you? She was standing too close. I didn't know who she was. I reacted like a proper agent should," he says in response, actually starting to sound irritated, and rephrasing the same argument that he's been making since this whole thing started.

No seriously, Q despairs even as he feels himself crumble, this just can't be his life.

Except for, apparently, how it _is_.

In the end, all he can do is bash his head into the desk because this man, agent, is the most infuriating person on the planet and will more than likely send Q to an early grave. But, Q thinks sourly, a bitter taste in his mouth even as something like affection warms his heart, the idiot means well, at least.

Bond just furrows his eyebrows and moves from using his laptop as a club to using it as a shield. "Are you quite alright?" he asks, seeming for all the world as though he were serious. "You're sort of- twitching a bit."

Well, Q thinks despondently, there's nothing for it. He did choose this life after all.

Every day spent here is another day of wondering why he'd done that to himself.

He just sighs and grabs the laptop from the madman standing just across from him. "You, sir, are a _neanderthal_," he says, and before Bond can come up with some sort of witty rejoinder, he unceremoniously kicks the lughead out of his branch.

When he turns back around, his interns are all giving him a look, some as though Q's being purposefully obtuse, and others as though they're sort of terrified.

Q isn't really worried because that's pretty normal.

He can't but wonder why nobody will stand within two feet of him now, though.

* * *

See, it's sort of a stupid reason to get suspended- but then again, a lot of the reasons why James Bond gets suspended (without pay, usually) are rather stupid.

Still though, if someone had asked Q to cite one or two reasons as to why Bond would get his arse chewed out by a women half his size and a bit more than twice his age, well, this wouldn't even be in the top one hundreds list.

It wouldn't even be in the top thousand list.

Hell, this wouldn't even be on the plate as an _option_, much less make any sort of _list_.

"Really," he says, helping the poor medical team do their job by basically sitting on Bond to hold him the hell down. "_Really?_"

The look Bond gives him would frighten a lesser man; as it is, it just makes Q kind of want to slap him a little. Except, he can't, because James Bond is the sort of idiot who will sit there, quietly, and take a beating in the name of protecting his country _even though he doesn't have to-_ all because Q had made a comment about other agents being better qualified and had, at most, hurt his _pride_.

Which is just stupid, because Q hadn't even meant it the way Bond had probably heard it, when he'd said, "007, fall back. I repeat, fall back. 004 will take your place. He is currently more qualified for finishing this op right now."

He'd said it in an absent-minded way, already tracking the other agent's whereabouts and shooting off rapidfire instruction to get this done quicker. He honestly hadn't _meant _anything by it.

Then again, Q also hadn't exactly been keeping his agent in the loop about all of the extra information he'd been unearthing while the idiot had been slinking through the shadows like some sort of giant, quiet thing.

Which is how they've ended up here, with Bond being horrifically hurt and trying to brush it off, M having a coronary and probably drinking herself to death at the office, and Q trying his best to get the idiot to see reason even though he's wiggling like a great bloody fish and opening up wounds that haven't even begun to actually close yet.

He's forced to remind himself that he chose his life, and that there's no going back.

Still though, he could've been some posh upper level executive, with a corner room, and windows.

Then again-

"_Listen_, you _great fucking lump_," he finally barks out, grabbing Bond's face between his palms so he can glare him right in the eyes. "Would you _please_ just sit _still, _and _allow these nice people to do their thrice damned jobs!_"

"I'm fine," the lug says in return, trying valiantly to shrug off no less than twenty-two stab wounds, a punctured lung, and several fractured bones in various parts of his body. "Or I _would _be, if certain people would get off of me and _bugger_ _off_."

Q just glares. "I _would _get off, but you see, _certain _people are being stubborn arseholes and trying to bleed to death. So you can see why I'm currently not amenable to any suggestions that come out of said people's mouths."

In the meantime, Bond glares right back, managing to look like a kicked puppy while being six feet of pure muscle, glaring, and also, coincidentally, being absolutely _covered _in blood.

"Yes, well," he says, _wriggling even harder_, the bastard, "I think I would know whether or not I need medical attention. Unless of course, there are _better qualified people_out there to make that call, too?"

Ooh, still bitter then; and also not making sense.

Furthermore, Q is pretty sure that if his agent were in any sort of decent shape, he'd have Q in a headlock or some such thing by this point. The fact that he's only wiggling around says a lot, in and of itself.

But that's neither here nor there.

"Oh for the love of-," Q grits out, trying his very best not to have an on the spot aneurysm and just barely managing it, by the skin of his _teeth_. "_Listen_. These people here? _They are doctors_. Which means yes, they are _also _better qualified in this case, alright? Jesus fucking Christ."

Bond just looks petulant, doing that thing where he glares and tries his best not to pout and _fails_. "Yes, well, maybe you should just leave, then. And go have a chat with 004 about _qualifications _instead of sitting here on _underqualified _me and wasting your time."

"Oh my God," Q says, bring his head down on the uninjured part of Bond's chest in lieu of finding a convenient wall. "Is this actually going to be a thing? You're bleeding out and dying, and you're turning this into a thing. Are you _serious _right now?"

"I don't know," Bond grunts out, still glaring but no longer bucking-something Q is grateful for because his balance is precarious, at best.

"Why don't you go and ask someone who's qualified to respond properly? _Like 004._"

"Oh my God," Q says, again, before discretely signalling for the medics to bring out the tranqs. "You're serious. You're legitimately arguing with me while _dying_."

"You're bloody fucking right I am," Bond manages to get out before the medics stab him and he starts to figure out what's happening.

He doesn't even manage to aim a fully betrayed look in Q's direction before passing out altogether.

* * *

A few hours later finds Q sitting at his perpetual headache's bedside- he may or may not be holding the agent's hand, just a little, because it gives Q the illusion that Bond gets to sleep a nightmare free sleep. His face is, for lack of a better word, smushed into the bedding right by Bond's hip because he feels guilty even though nothing is really his fault.

"I hate you..." he groans out, wishing that he could be in his comfortable bed instead of stuck in an uncomfortable chair, watching over his favorite pain in the arse with only the ticking clock for company.

Despite his hopes, there's no answering quip.

Q just sighs and tries his very best to suffocate himself in the sheets.

Unsurprisingly, he doesn't succeed in killing himself out of -g-u-i-l-t- discomfort.

"You are the biggest, most aggravating _jerk _that I've ever had the misfortune to deal with," he complains about twenty minutes of silence later. "Taking things to heart like that and charging in like an idiot with a deathwish. What even are you?"

Bond, of course, doesn't respond.

"No, really," he continues, trying his best to scowl and failing miserably. "What is it? Do you want to die? Do you want me to rot in guilt for the rest of my days and faithfully bring flowers to your grave every Sunday?"

Silence still reigns, which Q is not okay with.

Another hour still, and of course, the panic of the day-the sheer gut-wrenching terror that this man, this gorgeous, broken man, won't come back to -h-i-m- them- sinks in a little, and he's left shaking and just barely holding off on curling into himself.

He doesn't even want to think about how utterly pathetic he must look right now.

"I didn't mean it that way, you know," he whispers through chattering teeth, even as his mind replays every hit struck upon his agent's flesh, every stab, "About the whole 004 business. I didn't, didn't- I just, I just meant that 004 was closer to the goal and also better able to handle computers. Which, let's face it, you use them like they're bloody _javelins _most of the time, so."

Bond just kind of lays there, which does a grand total of _nothing _to make Q stop getting on with his panic attack. "Seriously," he says, almost frantic in his need to get it out, "I didn't mean it that way at all; you have to know that, you reckless, tech-destroying, _arsehole_. Oh my _God, _ you overly sensitive little _prick_."

Of course, Bond doesn't say a word, the bastard.

Another twenty minutes, and Q finally let's himself curl up miserably, keeping half an ear out for the machines as he allows himself fall into a fitful sleep.

He doesn't feel it when strong arms pull him up and off the chair and into the bed, nor does he feel a warm body curling around him in an attempt to offer comfort.

When he wakes up again, though, Bond is gone, and he's neatly tucked into the hospital bed- he never realizes that he spent the night in bed, curled up with James Bond of all people.

* * *

The three days of suspension ends up being a day and a half of suspension, at most- because Bond is a workaholic who really is damned good at his job and also because he absolutely refuses to stay at Q's flat, all alone and bored, while Q gets to go and have fun at work. His words, not Q's.

(Q himself is a little confused because he still has no clue as to why Bond is staying at his flat, at all. He just knows that the night after the agent had seen fit to check himself out of Medical, he'd simply shown up at Q's place, drenched to the bone and looking like some sort of massive, stoic, snarky puppy dog.

Then, he'd just sort of shouldered his way in and made himself at home, all while Q had been gaping.

(To be fair though, Q hadn't really been able to bring himself to mind, nor had he dredged up the willpower to the kick the man out. And so, he'd let it be.)

M just sort of proceeds to ignore the fact that Bond has, once again, flouted her orders and puts various other agents, agents who have pissed her off, on _babysitting duty_- Agents who then curse their fate as Bond leads them all on a merry chase, because he is the biggest, snottiest, most annoying _child _that there ever was.

Q interrupts the shenanigans exactly twice, once to make sure that his agent eats lunch, and once to make sure that he's taking the pills he's supposed to be taking. Said agent doesn't argue once, which is a source of never ending relief and, worse still, _consternation_.

Well, actually, the fact that Bond actually _listens _when Q says things is apparently a surprise to exactly no one, except Q himself, who just sort of floats through the day with expressions of disbelief and suspicion warring upon his face.

But again, that's neither here nor there.

In the end, they all get through the day and their their respective workloads, except Bond who spends half the day hiding from the other double-0s of MI6 and spends the other half of the day hovering around Q Branch and generally being in Q's personal space, always hovering about like a ginormous bloody space heater at Q's back.

To be honest, the whole thing just makes Q want to smile, an impulse that he doesn't even bother to fight even though it's got a lot of his minions in a bit of a strop.

That evening, as they go back to -t-h-e-i-r- Q's flat, he sort of wants to ask about it, ask about what's gotten the great, ever cynical 007 playing about like a schoolboy and hovering about. But the words die in his throat when he sees the great lump curling onto the sofa, looking for all the world like a large, contented cat and probably tearing out a lot of his stitches out in the process too.

He has to shut up, then, because if he talks, he's pretty sure that the warm rush of _feelings_that he's currently experiencing will come spewing out in the most unfortunate of ways- and that, that will end well for nobody.

Instead, he gives himself a minute to put on the grumpiest face he can manage, before walking over and thumping the berk on the least injured part of his body.

"Up," he says in the most severe voice he can muster, maintaining his scowl even when ice blue eyes blink up at him with lazy curiosity.

"Oh for God's sakes," Q says, sighing even as he unsuccessfully tries to just _pull _the man into an upright position, "_Up. _I have to check you out to make sure that you're not going to bleed all over my furniture."

Bond just raises an eyebrow. "Your concern," he says, even as he pulls his shirt off, "is, as ever, _touching_."

Q doesn't even bother to respond because he's busy checking the aforementioned wounds and making sure that his agent isn't going to die on his watch.

He also may or may not be discreetly checking Bond out because that body is _gorgeous_and Q is more of a heathen than he would like to admit.

(On a complete side note, Q never asks Bond to leave, which should seem peculiar but actually isn't, in the end.)

* * *

Apparently, the whole ordeal with Bond nearly dying from sheer stupidity gets some sort of ball rolling, because he goes from just being the agent's quartermaster, to his secretary, to his babysitter, to God only knows what else.

It sort of becomes a, a _thing_, as it were.

007 is acting up in some indistinct corner of the world? Q gets called in to talk him down or, as one of the other agents had put it, 'bitch at him in sweet dulcet tones until the monster finally settles.'

James Bond is trying kill himself by taking on too many missions back to back? Q gets thrown to the proverbial lions because apparently, he's the only one who can _talk _to the man and actually have him _listen, _even if it's mostly through nagging and bitching.

M starts to order him to be there whenever Bond stumbles into HQ after a hard mission, which, well, he'd always been doing _anyway_ because he's there for before the mission, and through the mission and he isn't going to leave the man alone _after _it. But he does as asked anyway, and forces the man to listen to a _medical doctor about medical things_, which is not only only a miracle because it works, but also because it earns him a freaking _pay raise_.

Yeah, it's all massively weird for Q too, like, _Ubuntu as an OS _weird or _black coffee _weird.

"I can't believe it," Q mutters one day, even as he tries to reassemble the broken pieces of what had once been a state of the art gun, while also throwing all the useless bits at Bond's _head_ because the bastard deserves it for doing this to Q's precious tech, "I work my bloody arse off for hours and hours to keep her agency well equipped, put in for overtime just fixing _your _equipment, put in _even more _overtime fixing _everyone else's_, and the thing that earns me the raise is being your over-glorified babysitter."

Bond shrugs, lazily dodging all the projectiles coming at him before smirking proudly, the asshat. "Are you really complaining over what is essentially, free money?" he asks and Q has to wonder, _is _he? Because honestly, it feels a lot like he's not, and not even for the right reasons-which is sort of terrifying on some levels.

"Oh do not even go there, you complete monster" he says instead, throwing yet another melted computer chip at the agent, "you are the hardest job to do, ever. So I'm still underpaid and overworked and unappreciated."

Bond just hums in something resembling agreement. "I appreciate you," he says, before kipping in for a nap on the plush cot that Q'd had brought in, just for those days when Bond is too hurt to do anything and is too stubborn to just go home.

"Well, of course _you _do," Q says with a huff, before whipping out a miniature screw driver and going to town, "If I weren't around, I doubt you'd even be able to _function _properly, much less get your hands on the sort of tech that I've been giving you. Which brings me to my next point. Don't think, for one second, that I forgive you for the atrocity that you've wreaked on my poor baby here."

Bond just grunts, which Q takes as a signal to continue even though it's probably more of a shut up than anything else. "No really," he says, voice softening as the other man's breathing starts to even out, "I expect proper compensation for this- a solid dinner _atleast_."

This time there is no answering response, because the great and fearsome Agent 007 has settled in for his nap, and not even the most of vicious of attacks will wake him from it.

(Unless of course, the attacks are real, in which case, he'll be up and retaliating before he's even fully awake. If it's just Q trying to get his lazy arse up, however, Bond will continue to steadfastly ressemble a great moldy log, dead to the world and essentially useless.)

In the end though, Q won't lie, atleast, not to himself- he secretly revels in the cozy, almost domestic feel of it all- revels in the smile that grows on the other man's face with each passing day, chasing away atleast some of the shadows that seem to constantly dog the man's footsteps.

Honestly, if this is his life, Q can't help but think that things could a whole hell of a lot worse.

* * *

One of the (surprisingly) few downsides to the whole thing though, other than the obvious increase in his workload, is that Q is starting to notice _things_, things about James Bond that hurt, that cleave his heart right in two.

He notices things like how the man hides so much of himself from the world, burying that soft squishy underbelly under hard muscle, a rough smirk, wild sex, and pure, unadulterated _talent_- notices how, really, only M and Q are privy to anything of his real self at all and even then, M's knowledge is minimal and Q notices how that hurts Bond.

He notices things like how, sometimes, when the world is warm and even Tanner is loosening up enough to bring them candy and alcohol, or when M is yelling for no other reason than the fact that she doesn't want to seem soft to anyone, ever- Bond gets this look in his eyes, like he's actually happy.

Now, normally, this would be a good thing, a phenomenal thing even, despite what Q will say when Bond actually pisses him off- but the thing is, about five minutes later, Q will turn around and the look on his agent's face will slowly but surely change.

He'll go from utterly happy to brooding in no time flat, his eyes going to from bright to dull and desolate, and he'll get this look on his face like he knows that he doesn't deserve happiness and wonders when it's going to be snatched away from him again.

In times like that, it's all Q can do to finish up one of Bond's more extravagant requests, be it an exploding pen or a mini-laser cufflink.

The extra work becomes worth it, then, because thrusting the finished product under Bond's nose and watching those eyes light up again is something that Q wants to continue to keep doing.

Oddly enough, though, with each new gadget that he shoves at his agent, his interns and underlings start eyeing him like something fascinating to study under a microscope. Frankly, the feeling this produces is more than a little daunting.

* * *

He also notices other marked changes in the amount of sex that James Bond has in correlation with the number of missions he runs.

More specifically, the mission sex takes a drastic fall, even if it doesn't disappear completely because this is their _job _and information has to be gained at all costs.

Q understands that part, atleast.

What he doesn't understand, is the complete stop in _recreational _sex because seriously, Bond is actually making it a point to hover around Q Branch like a particularly overprotective helicopter, rather than indulging in copious amounts of gratuitous monkey sex.

This actually worries _everyone_, because that's not just a change in a simple behavioral pattern, _but a huge change in his very being_. As a whole, Bond needs sex almost as much as he needs to breath or posture, _everyone knows this_, except for the part where he apparently _doesn't_.

Of course, whenever someone brings it up, or even makes a passing mention about it, the agent just sort of gives _Q _a weird look, as though it's obvious, before shutting down completely.

Q just sort of wants to scream because, what the _hell_.

Another thing that he doesn't understand is why, after each increasingly rarer bout of professional sex (and doesn't that sound rather horrifying? Maybe Q should just call it work-related sex), Bond feels the need to shower- after one of those clean-up sessions, the agent is always pink, as though he's scrubbed himself raw, and he always spends the night just silently watching Q, even when Q doesn't do anything worth the scrutiny.

Q himself actually never knows what to do with Bond when he's like that, or when he just gets dark and lonely, so he pretty much always just goes to his fallback-he just puts on the kettle, gives the man a cuppa, and kips down to read aloud whatever he happens to grab.

"Feels like I'm putting you to bed," he'll quip, allowing the other man to crowd into his personal space as is his wont, "What are you, _4 _or _40_?"

"_Excuse _you," Bond will grumble, lazily draping himself over all available surfaces and Q, "I'm not a day over _39_, thank you."

"My _foot_," Q will crow, before opening his book with a decisive snap, thumbing through pages long worn through multiple reads, and they'll both just settle in.

Invariably, Bond always mocks his choices the next day, but that's ok because the shadows in his eyes disappear for a while, replaced by a twinkling mirth that one would have to look for to see, and that makes it all worthwhile in Q's eyes.

* * *

Q isn't too sure as to whether or not this is a thing, too; but recently, 'someone' has been leaving behind food -and on one occasion, a _jumper- _at his desk. It's never anything too extravagant, usually just a poorly made sandwich, or some quick pasta tossed in butter, or some other dish that an otherwise incapable bachelor would be able to throw together in a pinch.

Admittedly, the sweater had been of a rather high quality, but it'd been a one time thing and therefore not as important to note.

On another note, the same 'someone' who's been doing the deliveries, has also been taking great pains to avoid all the CCTVs and security cameras that are installed all over the Branch. This is rather stupid because a) Q has installed biometric-scanners at the doors, windows, and in all the vents, which means that if anyone uses any of the viable methods in or out of the lab, _Q knows that they're there_. Incidentally, he also knows who they are, what Branch they belong to, what their vitals are, as well as their statistics, and their goddamned _life stories_-

-and b) even with all this at his disposal, Q doesn't need to use any of it to know exactly who's behind sneak feeding him.

There are, Q has come to realize, less than a handful of people who will go through that sort of effort for him, who will take the time out of their day to do something as inane as making sure he eats. Of _that_handful of people, there are maybe two who have the access to actually accomplish the feat.

Considering that Tanner is still normal enough to just hand things straight to Q, that leaves just one person. Also, there's only one person that Q knows, _in the world_, that would feel the need to protect his macho image while doing something so utterly kind-hearted, the only who would feel unsafe with such kindness exposed.

_Bond_.

Of course, Q has no bleeding idea as to why the idiot is going through all this trouble. But there's a rather large part of him that appreciates it nonetheless, melting ever so slightly as his brain conjures up images of the agent in a kitchen, a flabbergasted look on his face as the same razor-edge brain that's saved the world itself on so many occasions fails miserably at something as inane as _cooking_, of all things.

Frankly, it's endearing- a little weird maybe, but still utterly _endearing_and Q just can't help but smile whenever he comes out of a stuffy, boring meeting, and there's a poorly wrapped cheese sandwich on his desk.

But still, he cannot allow things to continue as they are.

"Tell you what," he says about a week after the mysterious appearances begin, sitting on the cot and watching idly as the agent curses before attempting to break out of the trap that Q had set for him, "Why don't you stop with the secret santa business and just have lunch with me like a normal person?"

That, oddly enough, puts an end to all of Bond's struggles.

"Really?" he asks, finally freeing himself (because this trap is one of those; the more one struggles, the harder it is to get out of) and looking at Q with an odd mix of hope and trepidation painting itself into those expressive blue eyes, leaving Q wondering as to just what is going on.

"Of course," Q says, feeling off kilter, as though he's not answering the question that he _thinks _he's answering but continuing anyway, "After all, it wouldn't do for you to miss lunch in an attempt to make sure I eat mine."

Clearly, that's not the right response.

He watches, curious, as the other man just blinks for a second, before his face settles into a deep scowl. "Fine," Bond says, with another one of his infamous almost pouts, "if that's what you want out of this, then fine."

"Out of what?" Q asks, raising eyebrows at the petulant response but, of course, he gets no answers of his own.

"I hate you," Bond grumbles as he curls onto the cot and lays his head on Q's lap.

Q, in turn, just rolls his eyes at the overdramatics and cards his fingers through his agent's hair. "Mmhmm."

* * *

The Valentine's day thing is quite possibly the weirdest, although, in retrospect, there is a distinct possibility that Q is deficient in someway because he never realizes that its a _clue_.

Then again, he's probably also too angry to even think of it that way.

As it happens, everyone in the Q Branch gives everyone else in the Q Branch a little something- because ultimately, most everyone in the Q Branch is considered a 'nerd' and will, therefore, not receive much (if anything) in the name of romance.

So, every year, they give each other a little something, just to put a smile on everyone's face rather than watch as a select few enjoy the holiday.

It's a good practice, actually, because it boosts morale- Q isn't so stupid as to think otherwise, even though he thinks the holiday itself is utterly mundane. So, the day before, he goes out and gets everyone in his branch some chocolate, the good stuff because his staff deserves the best.

He doesn't even consider the dramatics that would ensue as a result of his actions.

* * *

As expected, the candy exchange receives no real fanfare, the girls grin and give everyone little pecks on the cheek, and the guys pretend not to be affected by the whole affair even though the thought of all the glorious sugar clearly has each and every one of them aquiver with joy.

Q himself is grinning and yeah ok, the holiday itself is nothing but a last ditch attempt on Hallmark's part to stay alive, but as he hands Tina (the poor girl) her little goodie bag, even he has to admit that it's nice to see her smile so happily.

After all, after the absolute _debacle _that had been her first day here, she deserves something nice to make up for it, even if it's just a few truffles here and there.

"Thank you, Boss," she says shyly, getting on tiptoes to give him a quick peck on the cheek-

-which is, of course, when his idiot of an agent decides to make an entrance, by _running in_ and _pushing the poor girl_about as far away as he possibly can.

Which, considering that he's a _heavily trained assassin_ and is also built like a goddamned _bus_, and that _Tina _is actually rather tiny and built like a waif, well-

-the poor girl goes flying, stumbling back against the far wall.

There is a second of complete, utter silence in the branch, before a flurry of movement _explodes out_and several of the staff run over to check on the poor girl. Granted, she seems unhurt in the long run, seeming simply dazed instead of injured, but she's still tiny and the baby of the Branch, and everyone sort of wants to protect her- especially after the great Laptop Incident of Lord knows how long ago.

Meanwhile, Q just _stares_, horror etched on his face, because how on _earth _had everything gone so pear-shaped, so damned _quickly_? How had the smile on that girl's face turned into a look of fear, so bleeding fast?

The answer is simple, unfortunately.

The same answer is also, if the look on his face is anything to go by, utterly unrepentant.

Q may give in on a lot of things to this man, make concessions that he would otherwise make to noone else- but even he knows when to put his foot down about the whole thing, which is why he walks away to check on Tina without saying a word.

He doesn't even stop even when Bond tries to talk to him, because he knows that if he engages the man, that if he explodes the way that he wants, that if he lashes out with words and fists the way he's dying to do- well, it'll end like it always does. They'll just end up snarking at each other like a couple of school boys. Then, Bond will make those silly puppy eyes at him until Q just caves in, and that'll be the end of that.

That just won't do this time.

The arsehole needs to learn that doing things like what he just did, are _not ok_- and Q knows that the silent treatment will work better than anything else.

* * *

This thing, silent treatment, _whatever_, continues for a full four days; Q doesn't even give in even after _Tina herself_walks over and tells him to cut the agent some slack.

"He didn't mean it," she says, sipping her tea and staring at Q with widened eyes, as though willing him to understand something.

Q refuses to budge. "No," he tells her, not even bothering to look up from his work, "He needs to learn."

Tina just sighs. "Come on, boss," she says, a beseeching look on her face, "I didn't even get hurt!"

"That doesn't make a difference," Q says in return, "The point is, you _could have been; _you just _weren't _despite his best efforts, because you were born under a lucky star. I simply will not associate with someone who does things like that."

Tina groans this time. "I think you're overreacting," she says.

Q snorts, "That's the Stockholm Syndrome talking- you've already been here too long if Bond has gotten to you that quickly."

"Whatever sir," she says, as she gets up to leave, "you're going to have to talk to him at some point."

There are a lot of things that Q is always right about, and then there are the things that other people are right about- Q can admit, in the privacy of his own thoughts, that this time might just be the latter.

The thought is only further cemented when he returns to his desk, and sees that Bond has returned his equipment from the latest mission- all in one piece, for once. Of course, there are no apologetic notes or forgiveness candies- hell, it doesn't even seem like Bond is so much as acknowledging that he's done something wrong.

But then again, Q thinks as he looks at the only piece of fully functional equipment that Bond has ever returned, there's no need for anything more overt, is there?

* * *

"You know that you can't go around pushing people around like that, right?" Q asks as soon as he walks into -t-h-e- his flat and sets sight on the (moping? Is he, is he _moping_?) agent on -t-h-e- his couch, "Because let me tell you, what you did was utterly _reprehensible_."

Bond just grunts, turning away and sulking like a child.

"What is wrong with you?" Q sighs, shaking his head and staring at the ceiling as though begging for strength.

But there's still no response from the other man because, apparently, he's decided that if Q is going to give him the silent treatment, he's going to give it right back.

Which just figures because of course he's going to pull something like that in retaliation. It's not as though he's the most mature of people, even on a good day- so really, why does Q expect better things from this man again?

He just shrugs, exasperation clear on his face as he just turns around to walk off, because there's no point in dealing with this bullocksy situation-

-which is, of course, when Bond decides to talk.

"Are you even going to ask?" he asks, expression blank, like he only does when he expects the worst news. His voice sounds almost disturbingly small, like he's just _tired_, and the sound of it is almost heart-wrenching in a way.

Q doesn't understand.

"Ask what?" he questions, even as he frantically runs through his mental files to see whether or not he'd forgotten something. He feels like he's missing something really important, like there's something just at the tip of his brain just _waiting _to be noticed. If he could just pull it up, just get to the bottom of what's going on, he's sure that he can erase that look off the older man's face.

Said man's response only intensifies this feeling. The agent just looks, as far as terrible similes go, like a broken-hearted wall- like Q had just reached into his chest and crushed his hopes and dreams, and like he's trying to hide the fact by looking as stoic as physically possible and _failing miserably _at it.

It's killing Q to be honest, even though he couldn't say _why, _not even on his life.

"Nevermind," Bond says in the meantime, resignation practically oozing from his very pores as he gives his most listless shrug, "It's nothing important." And Q sort of wants to scream a bit, maybe even smack the man around, because clearly yes, it's _extremely_ important. It's fucking out of character, is what it is, because James Bond should always bitch and moan and snark about everything, except for the part where it isn't out of character at all. It breaks Q's heart because, when it counts, the giant, idiotic, _moron_ that Q has the privilege of being quartermaster to, keeps it all _in_.

But, in the end, he can't really say anything either, because the more he prods, the more the other man will clam up; and that's neither conducive to getting answers nor in making the other man feel any better.

And so, Q heaves what feels like his umpteenth sigh of the day before meandering his way into the kitchen, fully prepared to do what he always does when Bond gets into one of his moods.

"You could just tell me, you know," he says, just once, as he brings out a steaming cup of Earl Grey and settles in to read through, 'The Once and Future King.'

As expected, Bond doesn't say anything in return, but Q considers it a win, anyway, when he slouches down and rests his head on Q's lap like he always does.

-and no, things aren't _fixed _per se, because the man clearly has _issues _that Q's yet to figure out. But, as he runs his fingers through the the agent's short-cropped hair, Q makes a vow to make it better- somehow, someway.

* * *

After that, things just sort of even out, except for how it doesn't because he still feels like he's missing something enormous. It feels as though something has changed drastically, although nothing really has.

Q and Bond still basically cohabitate because apparently, it's not worth the effort for Bond to keep his own place when he barely spends his time there. They pretty much still eat together on most occasions, except when they don't, and then Bond will drop off a poorly made lunch or dinner depending on which meal he thinks Q is most likely to skip.

Q is still called in to babysit Bond at all times- mostly when he's injured, when he works too much, when he won't stop picking fights with other agents, and when he walks into work and M is in no mood to deal with him.

So yes, nothing changes, except for how it does.

-because Bond actually gets a little bit more _quiet_with each passing day, and setting off alarm bells and red alerts and warning signs all at once.

But Q doesn't know how to fix that, even though he desperately, desperately wants to.

* * *

In the end, because that's just how Q's life _is_, it all comes to a head one morning about two months after the weirdness starts- one of the interns finally has some sort of ill-timed panic induced seizure and proceeds to spew information like she's utterly incapable of control.

"Oh my God," she says, looking on with a sort of devastated awe as 007, James Bond, Machismo Extraordinaire, drops yet another poorly made sandwich onto Q's desk before running off for his mission of the day, "Boss! I know what's going on. _Boss_."

Q honestly can't be arsed to even look up from his laptop; because between trying to figure out why Bond is unhappy and trying to figure why the damned idiot just can't keep his equipment in once piece, _goddamn him_, he doesn't have any attention span to spare.

"What," he says, voice monotone as dexterous fingers speed through taking apart and reassembling one of his more state of the art guns, mind barely sparing the power to process the girl herself, much less her words.

"It's like some sort of, of mating ritual or something," she blurts out in the meantime, "Oh my God, Boss, do you see that? He's, he's_ showing that he can provide for you,_ and, and, oh my God. _Boss_. He's been marking his territory. No _wonder_ he doesn't like Tina! _How have you not noticed_?"

"Hm?" Q says, frowning at one of the pieces before taking out one of his smaller screw-drivers, "What are you going on about, then?"

How on _earth_, he wonders at the same time, can someone break a single gun in no less than 8 places? What, had Bond decides to shove it through a particularly large, titanium-made _blender_?

The intern just smacks her forehead into her desk. "_Boss_." she says impatiently, as though she's seriously considering just beating the information into his head, "_He's establishing himself as a potential mate_, ok? _He is wooing you._"

"Mmhmm," he says through the pin in his mouth, glaring at the bent, melted, twisted wreck that had once been his pride and joy.

Apparently, this is the part where the intern loses her temper.

"Ugh, _men_,"she says before just coming over, pulling his head up from his work, looking him in the eye, and saying very clearly, "_He wants to be your boyfriend._"

The 'you _idiot_' goes unsaid, even though anyone privy to the conversation (which is _everyone_) can hear it loud and clear.

As it turns out, even Q can't ignore something like that- not even when he's busy doing what he does best- and he finds himself gaping and stuttering as though he were back in primary school once again, facing up against foes twice his size.

What makes it worse, oh God, is that _everything makes sense;_ it all falls into bed with near audible clicks and for the first time in possibly _ever_, Q wonders how he'd been so slow on the uptake.

But in the end, there isn't much he can do about it because Bond is in Oslo, and Q is busy with his branch and this type of conversation has no place in the working environment. So, he simply shrugs off the intern girl, pointedly doesn't write her up, and goes back to work.

Oh, but when they get home, Q is going to possibly bludgeon his idiotic agent to death because seriously, _what the hell_.

(Incidentally, he also gives the girl a pay raise. Let's see what someone else feels like when they get a raise for everything other than their hard work, he thinks a little snippily.)

* * *

Q spends all of one minute wondering as to whether or not he wants to be in a relationship with James Bond of all people, then he proceeds to kick the thought right out of his head because _of course he does_.

He's been living in (and there's no other way to phrase it) domestic bliss with the man for even he doesn't know how long, depending on him and being depended on, in return. To go back to being the way he had been before this whole thing had started would be, in a word, unacceptable.

Therefore, Q supposes, it's not really whether or not he wants to be in the relationship that matters. It's more that Bond had obviously not only known about the happenings on, and had not only invested so heavily into it that he hurt, but that he _hadn't bothered to clue Q in_.

He's going to get it when he gets back, Q decides- _there will be no mercy_.

* * *

Because he's not nearly the heartless prick that he pretends to be, Q manages to wait until Bond gets back home from Oslo and even waits for him to finish showering before going after him. After that, though, all bets are off, and before long, he's frog marching the man over to the lilo, sitting his arse down, and proceeding to level him with the sort of glare that even _budget cuts _don't normally warrant.

"Well...?" He crosses his arms, and looks down his nose, hoping to convey every bit of disdain he feels towards certain agents and their inability to act like regular human beings.

To his credit, said man just blinks. "What?" he asks, looking befuddled as though he has any right to, the bastard, "What is it?"

"Don't you start with me," Q grits out, because there is no way that the bastard doesn't understand what's happening, "Although one must wonder, should I confiscate you to the sofa for the rest of eternity?"

Except that he wouldn't because if he did, there would no chance whatsoever to play catch up with the sex that they haven't been having, that they should have been having, goddamn his life, anyway.

"What on earth are you talking about," Bond says in the meantime, looking at him as though _he _were the emotionally stunted crazy one in this relationship, "I _already_sleep on the sofa."

"Oh my God," Q groans in response, because once again, this is his life- because he's not only been cockblocking himself all along, but has also been stonewalling the relationship itself to the point where Bond seems to think that he'll never catch on to his sneaky ways.

"Alright," he continues on after a few moments of muttering despondently, "I can see how this is going to end if I don't bite the bullet right now, ok? So I ask-"

"Have we, or have we not, been _dating_ for the past _several months_?"

Of course, par for course, this is about when the other man suddenly starts to look shifty; his eyes are darting about the room as though he's trying to plan an escape, which just-

Q just takes a deep breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth so that it actually calms him somewhat, before plopping down next to his agent. "Seriously," he says, "You would rather stalk-date me, never talk about any of this, and hope that I catch on at some point in the vague future, rather than just _ask_?"

The guilty look on Bond's face says it all.

"How," Q asks the ceiling, "is this my life? What did I do in a past life to deserve this?"

But he's curling into his newly discovered boyfriend of several months in a way that can only convey happy acceptance, that can only mean that he doesn't really mean the things he says sometimes and that yes, he's a little upset with the situation, but he'll get over it.

Apparently, though, that's more than enough- the slight approval that Q gives with that small movement gives Bond everything he needs, because before Q can figure out what's going on, he's being yanked onto his back and Bond, James, _Bond- _is _everywhere_.

"Must've saved a Maharaja's life," the bastard says, breathing against Q's lips, just hovering and not doing much else. He knows exactly what he's doing to Q- every move is a calculated bid to seem as irresistible as possible.

If only he knew.

Q just glares up in mock annoyance, though, even as he fights off a wave of affection. "Mm," he hums, because he can't let the man's ego go unchecked, "I'm thinking I _killed_one instead. Maybe tortured them a little before sending them on their way."

In response, Bond just raises an eyebrow, and says something snarky, but Q doesn't catch it because Bond is doing that thing again, where a remark cuts close but he doesn't want to show any weakness. So, like any good boyfriend , Q rolls his eyes sky high before pulling the lug down for a proper kiss.

"_You _must've saved the world a million times over, though," he pants a good few minutes later, "Because that's the only reason I can think of to love you like I do."

-B-o-n-d- James just smiles.

* * *

I hope that wasn't too bad, guys! I mean, as usual, I feel I may have made it too abrupt and quick, especially towards the end- and it's definitely not the best writing out there. But I hope you enjoyed it even the littlest bit! Also, those who live in the USA~ HAPPY THANKSGIVING! THIS IS MY GIFT TO YOU! **R and R** please!


	2. That Which I Dictate

This is not the best written either. Like, think lots of mistakes. You know how I keep getting excited and spewing fic? Yeah. Anyway, it's not really beta'd, again. Had a friend, PrincessNiallxHoran on ao3, read it over real quick and she didn't seem to find it abhorrent. So.

**Oh, also! AND THIS IS IMPORTANT. This is a cluster of four separate but sort of interconnected fics, if we want to look at them like that. Each new 'ficlet' starts off with a line and a quote! o.O.o.O.o is used to signify breaks_within_ ficlets. Got it? Good. :) also, also, SLASH. 00Q. You have been warned. Bitch and thou shalt be flayed.**

On a final note, check out our Tumblr! We love hearing from you! We're thetwowriters!

* * *

Summary: Getting together is one thing, actually making it work is another- other known as: four instances that have a major impact on Q's perception of his and Bond's relationship.

* * *

_"Keep me safe, live for me-"_

Having the dubious honor of being the boyfriend of certain obnoxious double-0 agents, as Q's been finding out, is one part wonderful, two parts weird, and twelve parts sheer frustration- the likes of which Q had never presumed to be involved in.

Even though he should have, really.

(Case in point, the Great Dating Debacle that had been their sort of courting period- which, admittedly, Q is still a tad bitter about.)

Still though, Q has to wonder how they've ended up here.

"What on earth," he asks, trying to stay calm and only marginally succeeding as he takes in the sights of their (and it is _theirs_ now) newly ruined living room, "do you think you're doing?"

Bond just raises an eyebrow, an image which would have been a lot more condescending if weren't for the screwdriver between his teeth.

"No really," he says, gritting his teeth and trying his best not to become one of those domestic abusers that the news seems so fond of. "What in the _actual hell_, are you doing?"

He's not being unreasonable here. Their once relatively undamaged flat looks like a storm had passed through it.

There are wires all over the place, the reasons for which Q can not only _guess at_ but can also offer _better alternatives for_; there's what looks to be a small factory's worth of plastique lined up right next to what had once been gorgeous panel flooring, and there seems to be- oh dear Lord is that _broken glass _in those little baggies?

Q is about two seconds away from a total melt-down, which will only result in heretofore unseen amounts of violence, if James fucking Bond doesn't open his bloody gob and _talk_.

Luckily for him, Bond seems to understand his rather precarious position because he actually bothers to spit out the screwdriver and use words, like an actual person.

"_I_," he says, a pointed look on his face as though Q should have thought of this beforehand, "am fortifying our flat." The 'like you should have done ages ago' is left unsaid even though it's heard loud and clear anyway.

The bastard.

Q is, in a word, unimpressed.

"So I noticed," he says, voice flat in the sort of way that preludes a proper screaming match. "I meant, _why?_"

"Well you should've just asked that, then," Bond fires back, actually looking affronted, as though such pedantry had ever mattered to him. He also _blatantly_ doesn't answer Q's question before resolutely turning back to doing whatever it is that he'd been doing before Q had come home- because he is the bastard king of deflection.

He's got _that_ sort of look on his face though. The one that he'd had when he originally projected his romantic intentions at Q until Q had finally gotten a clue and had proceeded to proverbially brain him with it- the same shifty look that involves fleeing at the first whiff of a 'feelings' talk of any sort.

_Oh dear Lord_, Q thinks, _this is going to be one of _those _things._

How is this even his life, he wants to know. He's stuck with the world's only intelligent _moron_ for a lover. He really doesn't deserve to deal with this shit, overthrown governments and associative blood on his hands notwithstanding, because _no one_ ever actually deserves to deal with this crap.

But because Q is a phenomenal boyfriend, he just sighs instead of forcing the issue. Granted, it doesn't hurt that he already knows exactly what the issue _is_.

After all, it's a known fact, practically a _legend _even, that James Bond doesn't have the luckiest of records when it comes to significant others. His love to tragedy ration is, frankly, _alarming-_ and yes, alright, Q doesn't expect anything quite that bad to happen to him because, contrary to popular belief, he _is _a trained agent of MI6 and can, in fact, hold his own. He isn't going to get captured without a damaging fight, one which the other party would more than likely lose.

-and that's _not_ including the various booby traps of his own that he's installed over the years.

There really is no need for Bond through all the effort of safety proofing a place that's already safety proofed by the best mind that England has to offer.

On the other hand, if this is what James needs, if this is what it takes for him to feel safe with handing out his already fractured heart- then so be it. Q isn't going to deny him this- at least, not as much as he normally would if it were anyone else.

"Bother," he states before sighing again. James Bond should not have this sort of effortless power over him. Q shouldn't be letting Bond, beloved boyfriend or not, get away with destroying what had once been a relatively decent living room.

But alas.

"I'll just go and put on the kettle then, shall I?" he says with a small groan, before resolutely walking away to do just that.

That night though, as Q gets fucked in some _highly_ creative ways, he finds that he (actually, physically, and somewhat literally) can't complain; at least, not _really_, and especially not when Bond curls around him afterward and whispers a heartfelt, "Thank you."

Although Q has to wonder for a second: for what? For not calling him out on his behavior? For letting him destroy their humble abode in the name of security? For staying alive despite the bad karma that follows them around like some sort of deranged puppy? For letting himself love a man with so many broken off pieces that he's liable to cut himself to ribbons at some point?

Then he dismisses the thought process altogether- stops himself from asking, even if he desperately wants to on some level, because he's very much afraid that the answer will be all of the above. He doesn't think he can handle anything like that coming out of James' mouth without some sort of emotional response of his own.

Fact of the matter is, there's still a small part of him that fears that James will leave if he ever catches wind of how deeply Q feels for him, months and years of hearing rumors and dealing with the man himself making it hard to get past.

In response, he just turns around and curls back into his poor, broken boyfriend- arranges those hulking limbs to his liking and ignores –r-e-v-e-l-s-i-n- the silent huff of amusement it brings out.

"I'll do my considerable best to always come back to you," he doesn't say, even he though probably should- because he isn't ready to make promises that he might not be able to keep and he knows that Bond doesn't want to hear it. He also doesn't have the courage to say, "I'll do whatever is necessary to always be by your side."

So he rests his head on Bond's chest instead, unerringly finding his heartbeat after all these months, and he says, "My God, man! Must you be so chatty after sex?"

He thinks Bond understands what he means, anyway- at least, he hopes he does.

-and if he doesn't, well, Q will tell him one day. He's pretty sure that he'll grow the balls at _some_ point, possibly even in the foreseeable future.

* * *

_"Love me as I am, even when I can't love myself, please-"_

Their relationship doesn't transition quite as smoothly as everyone expects. After all, there are still protocols to consider, along with psych evaluations and not to mention Bond's personal record.

Surprisingly (or maybe not, Q isn't sure), it's the last that proves to be the most difficult hurdle to clear. Worse still, it isn't even M who makes their life difficult, even though if anyone could, it would be her.

No, it's _everyone else _that causes problems.

Incidentally, it starts off with Tanner who, in his own bumbling way, tries to warn Q to protect his heart because Bond has a dangerous job and also has the tendency to fuck around a lot and is Q prepared for that?

"Are you _sure_?" he asks one day as he brings Q an actual, edible lunch. "Are you _positive _that you want to go through this?"

Q makes grabby hands for the tupperware in Tanner's grasp, because Tanner is an amazing cook and Q would actually marry the man if it weren't for the fact that he's already in a relationship. As it is, on some days, it's a close call on what, or who, he loves more.

"Well," he says, magnanimous in his victory and ignoring Tanner's eye roll as he finally hugs the warm box of food to his chest. "I work in MI6- danger goes hand in hand."

"Also," he continues on, mostly as a joke unless Tanner says _yes_, in which case he'll accept it with open arms, "if Bond breaks my heart, you're just going to have to cook for me so I can eat my pain away while I watch crap telly to soothe my soul."

He's not above exploiting Tanner's good nature, especially if it means more delicious food.

Tanner just gives him a wry look. "Most people eat _ice-cream_," he says, his voice as dry as the Sahara, "and cake, sometimes. But mostly ice-cream."

Q just scoffs at him as though offended, and says, "That's because none of them have realized how well you can cook yet. And I, for one, will make sure that it _stays _that way."

It's simple logic, really. The less people who know, the more Q gets to eat. The ratio is inversely proportional unless it's 1:1. Q plans on maintaining the status quo such that it remains in his favor.

"Greedy little shit," Tanner says in the meantime, voice so fond that Q has to melt a little, before he just shrugs and steps off. "Lots to do, then," he says with a groan. "M is being a right, well, you know."

Q let's him go because, in the end, while his opinion may grate beyond all belief, Tanner means well and he isn't trying to make Q break it off. He just wants to make sure that Q is making an informed decision, to make sure that Q won't be ripped apart; Q can't begrudge him that.

Especially, he thinks with a grin on his face, if the man keeps bringing food.

That and as long as Bond never finds out because Q knows his boyfriend and knows that, even though he'd try to pass things off as inordinately funny, even though he'd use it as an excuse to label Tanner as the resident mother-hen, he'd be upset. Mainly because he's been putting so much effort into making sure that Q _doesn't_ hurt because of him.

Thankfully, however, Bond is currently on a flight to Caracas so Q doesn't have to kill Tanner in one of the more gruesome ways in his repertoire.

**o.O.o.O.o**

Then comes Eve, who just wants to warn Q to guard his heart because apparently, she has _no doubts _that Bond will break it. She's a good deal more persistent than Tanner had been.

"He did the same with me, you know," she says one day, with the air of one who speaks from personal experience, "He'll sleep with you and then go off to fuck around with another girl like it never meant a thing."

"Well," Q goes to say, even as he tries to delicately piece together two pieces of what had once been a single cufflink, "maybe it didn't mean an-"

But she speaks right over him. "Don't get me wrong," she says, a fond smile on her face, "I'm not saying that he's a bad bloke. And he's a handsome one, I'll give you that. But I wouldn't say that he's _boyfriend _material, hey?"

Q blinks. "Your opinion is noted," he says, before resolutely turning back to his work. He isn't going to make a big deal out of this because sadly, Eve _does _have a point and Q would be stupid not to take note. However, he isn't going to let her think that it has any sort of effect on his own thoughts, _because it doesn't_.

Besides, he's got better things to do, like repairing this thrice damned micro-cufflink such that it doesn't get someone killed or worse, leave them alive so they can come back and bitch about it.

Eve just shakes her head and says, "Your funeral, Q," before taking off to do whatever it is she does, because she is busy and important and doesn't have time to do much of anything except her job-

-and stick her nose in where it doesn't belong, apparently.

"You can come out now," Q says, long after Eve leaves and his patience wears thin, resolutely not looking at the corner where he knows his boyfriend is sulking..

"She's right you know," Bond says, as he melts out of the shadows with practiced ease, "that _is _my long standing pattern."

Oh, so it's going to be one of those things, then, Q thinks with a mental groan.

"And your point?" he asks, eyebrow raised, because he knows James Bond better than everyone else by now, and he knows that there is only one way to truly drive the point home.

Bond tsks, as though Q's childish games are beneath him. "My _point_," he says with emphasis, "is that the same could happen to you. You never know."

_Right._

"Ha, I don't think so," Q doesn't crow even a part of him desperately wants to, "You gave all that up for _me_."

Instead, he stays calm and precise, because he really isn't that much of a shite in the end and because he knows that Bond is actually, desperately placing all his hopes on the next words to come out Q's mouth.

Q refuses to disappoint.

"I resent the implication that I am not all knowing," he says after thinking through his many options, perfectly deadpan, as though he's serious, even though he is more than aware that the universe is too expansive to know all, and revels when Bond has the intended reaction-

_Laughter, _albeit a little incredulous and a lot disbelieving, as though he can't believe that _this _is the reaction Q is having- as though it's a surprise that Q isn't running for the hills already.

But Q figures he has the time to fix that horrid, defeatist thought process. It may take the entirety of his lifespan, and assuming that there is an afterlife of some sort, it may take that too.

Q is more than willing to make that sacrifice.

"I am very hurt," Bond says a few minutes later, sounding anything but, sounding _happy_ even, as he slowly pulls away from the wall that he'd been leaning on, "you should take me out to dinner to make up for such heartache."

_Thank God_, Q thinks with a mental sigh of relief.

"I think not," he also fires back, out loud and eyeing the other man warily as he starts to slink closer, as though he were a particularly large cat, "I'm afraid that it simply isn't in my budget to feed wayward double-0s today."

"Besides," he goes on to say, "if that's the case, you should be hounding ."

Bond just chuckles. "Cheap," he says, with an eyeroll thrown in for good measure- and Q would squawk about it, but there is so much affection in those words, so much _everything_, that all he really hears is, "I love you," and, "Thank you for not leaving me."

The soft kiss Bond gives him before trotting off for his next mission only seals the idea further into his head.

Also, it puts him a good enough mood so that he doesn't have to go after Eve and murder her.

Further still, he forces Bond into casual clothes that night and drags him, kicking and screaming, to the cinema. They watch some horrid spy movie that has no basis in reality because that's what Bond gets for breaking that cufflink.

**o.O.o.O.o**

It doesn't just end there, _everyone else_ takes a go too, the interns, other double-0s, some of the higher ups that have a vested interested in keeping Q in one functional piece- they all come and talk to him about how this is one of the worst decisions he'd ever made.

To be honest, it doesn't really bother Q because again, they do have a point in all this. They're just trying to look out for either his or their own best interests.

So yes, it doesn't particularly bother Q, even though it does annoy him in a vague sort of way.

The thing of it, though, is that _Bond _has issues with the whole thing, even though he won't admit to it, because even he can only take so much adversity before he starts to shatter.

That much is evidenced by the fact that, one afternoon, the man walks into Q branch with a cup of tea and a look on his face as though someone's kicked his brand new, replacement Aston Martin.

"We need to talk," he says, carefully placing the tea on Q's desk, "preferably right now, if you've got the time."

Q has to wonder if the man even understands the implications behind his wording, even as makes a production of closing his laptop and putting it on standby mode.

"You have my full attention," he says, eyeing the man warily because something has been wrong for weeks and Q is hopefully, _finally_ getting some answers, "What is it, then?"

"In light of recent events," Bond responds, a little too abruptly and suddenly formal in a way that, well, he pretty much never _is_, "I believe that it would be best if we were to terminate our relationship."

It takes a moment for that to sink in, because there is a single, sparking moment where panic sets in and makes his brain turn to rubber- because no one ever wants to hear those words out of their loved ones' mouth- but when it finally clicks, when he remembers just what the situation is, Q frowns. Mostly because this has officially been the biggest waste of his time.

"Your request, Bond, has been taken into consideration," he says, carefully hiding the slight rage and the hurt, before pointedly opening his laptop back up, "and it has been _denied_."

Bond sputters because that's clearly not the sort of response he'd been expecting.

"_What_," he says, "do you _mean_, denied?"

Q just raises an eyebrow because _really_. Who does his boyfriend think he's trying to fool? Bond needs to remember that Q is quartermaster for a reason, and not _only _because he's been able to hack into the MI6 servers since he was primary school. He needs to remember that Q is more than capable of reading people, especially if said people are the ones he _lives _with.

Legitimately, Q should be kicking the man out and working himself into a right snit, maybe even putting other people (like M) in extracting divine retribution- but he'd known just what was signing up for when he'd fallen into this relationship. So instead, he just puts on his most judgmental expression and beams at James bloody Bond's smug fucking _face_.

Bond just, he just crumples.

Mind, it takes a small eternity- and a whole lot of determined staring, really- but Bond eventually _deflates, _as though accepting defeat, of any sort, is some sort of _monumental task_.

"Fine," he growls out, because he is (and has always been, if M is to be believed) a sore loser, and proceeds to drape himself all over Q's back and shoulders, to bury his face in Q's neck like a small child seeking comfort. "Don't blame me when everything goes pear-shaped and people start to really bother you about this."

"Not that I don't appreciate the effort," Q retorts back even as he absentmindedly pets the man's hair, because he is _not happy_, "Oh wait, I _don't_, and the next time you do something like this, the consequences will be _dire_. But here's a novel idea, why don't you just ignore people instead of stewing in your own angst? It's none of their bloody business what we have, and it would do you good to remember that."

Bond only sighs and burrows in even further, because he knows just how endearing he is when he does it, the bastard, and he knows that Q won't be able to maintain his temper for long. "I just- I don't want you to get hurt," he grumbles out, "Is that so wrong?"

He says it as though it hurts to make that confession which, knowing the man, it just _might -_and possibly for the hundred thousandth time, Q is reminded of just who he's dealing with, of who he's got the misfortune of loving so dearly.

"No," he says an eternity later, and a little pointedly, "it's not."

"Having you leave would cleave me in two," he doesn't say, "It would shatter me so badly that you'll never find all the pieces." But he thinks Bond gets it anyway, if the tightened hug and whispered apology is anything to go by.

"I'm sorry," Bond mumbles, sounding smaller than he has any right to.

"You _should _be," Q responds a few awful, heavy seconds later, because he is a little bit of a shit, after all, and because Bond deserves it, "Who on earth uses words like 'terminate' when they're trying to end a relationship, anyway? _Who taught you such things?_ Mind you, I only ask so I can go and shoot them in the _foot_."

The, "You shouldn't have to be sorry," goes unsaid, and so does the, "I forgive you, anyway."

**o.O.o.O.o**

The very next day, Bond goes on yet another mission, and Q sends out an organization-wide memo dictating exactly what he will do to the next person who inquires about his love life in anything less than a professional capacity.

He's gratified when that actually terrifies people into backing the hell off.

* * *

"_Let me crawl into you, make a home in your heart-"_

It isn't something that Q realizes gradually, but rather in a sharp, bright, moment of painful clarity.

(Honestly though, he isn't sure if _slowly _figuring it out would have been all that much better.)

He wakes up one morning like he does _every_ morning, with Bond wrapped around him, as though to protect him from any errant danger that might climb in through their window- and out of nowhere Q thinks, _even if something were to happen- what, he thinks I could survive without him?_

His brain has never been one to cut corners, to soften blows, so the answer it conjures up is, ultimately, _devastating._

_Yes._

The panic attack comes in two parts.

Part one involves Bond and his tendency self-destruction, something that he doesn't even bother to pretend about and part two-

Well, that involves _Q_ not being able to live without the man, which implies the sort of emotional investment that Q had never thought himself capable of. Also, there is the implication of latent masochistic tendencies somewhere in there, because _of course _he would form a bond like that (no pun intended) with a man whose entire living consists of _one near death incident after another_.

Of _course_- because that sort of thing is just Q's calling in life.

What makes the whole experience that much worse, is how every little thing starts falling into place- the little things that Bond has always done that Q has always taken for granted- they all slot in like a piece of some giant cosmic _joke _of a puzzle.

Every time Bond has insisted on going into their flat first ("It's a game, one which you are not allowed to win. Because if you do, I will be forced to do something drastic."), every time he's been adamant about only eating at certain places ("Seriously, Q? You want to go to the new Thai place? What sort of proper Englishman enjoys _Thai_?") or about sitting closer to the door ("What are you glaring for? It's cooler here and my core temperature is higher than yours.")- every time he makes Q move from 'his side of the bed' which is quickly translating into 'the side that's closer to anything dangerous that might occur.'

Every time he's made sure that Q is comfortable, that Q is _happy-_

("What are you bitching about, now? I know you asked for Lemon, but Earl Grey is your favorite! What does it matter how far I had to travel to get it? Oh for Christ's sake, just drink the thrice damned tea!")

-and it _hurts_, in a way, because all this time Bond has been protecting Q without ever telling him, possibly without ever knowing _himself_, and now it's coming to bite Q in the arse.

_Q _isthe one who's stuck putting up with the backlash that comes part and parcel with being James bloody Bond's long-suffering boyfriend, who's not only stuck with said boyfriend's heart-breaking idiocy but also with less than pleasant realizations of his own.

It almost isn't fair that this has to happen now, when everything is moving along so nicely.

Or perhaps that should have been his first clue.

_Sod it_, Q decides after a while, it's too bloody early to deal with this bullshite- so he gently pushes Bond's arm off of him, making sure not to wake said man up in the process (even though the man probably wakes up _anyway_), and proceeds to stalk off to the kitchen -where there's a mug of tea with his moniker on it and a barstool that's perfect for brooding in.

He needs to think, even though there really isn't all that much to think _about_. After all, the whole thing revolves around one question-

Is he ready to expose himself like this? To put mire himself in Bond so damned thoroughly that he can't tell where Bond ends and Q begins?

Lord knows, he has the single best example of bad emotional decision making sleeping away upstairs; he knows, first hand, what that sort of devotion, the kind that has already taken seed in his soul, will do to a person when they're in the sort of field they're in.

He also knows, without a shadow of a doubt, what he would do if Bond were to ever be taken from him; he knows exactly the kind of carnage that he will wreak upon a world that could no longer claim James Bond as an inhabitant.

So, with that in mind and for the second time since he'd fallen in with James fucking Bond, he wonders- _does he want to be in a relationship with this man_?

Does he want to willingly put himself in a position that will likely only bring him ruin in the long run?

He desperately, _desperately_, wants to say no, wants to take the intellectual road and never look back because that's just who's always prided himself on being- someone who's calm, cool and most importantly, _logical_.

But then Bond comes down, rubbing sleep out of his face and letting his guard down in a way that he just _doesn't _around anyone else.

"Q?" he calls, drowsy eyes lighting up ever so slightly as they land on him, and Q, well, he's just _lost_- has to wonder if the decision had ever even been his to make.

"Come here," he says instead of pondering on such inevitabilities, sets aside his mug and holds his arms out for the man he calls his own, for better or worse- because as needy and as pathetic as it sounds, he needs the physical contact right now.

"What happened?" comes Bond's sleep rough voice, even as he obediently walks over and allows Q to pull him close.

"Nothing," Q says, burying his face in his lover's taut stomach, allowing himself to revel in Bond's strength, "nothing at all." Because, in the end, that's what his panicked thoughts amount to, really.

"Hm," Bond says, noncommittally, and Q knows that his boyfriend doesn't believe him, because he is nothing if not perceptive- but Q also knows the answers to his own questions, so really, he isn't lying at all.

He takes a little bit of comfort in that knowledge.

When all is said and done, it may take awhile for him to fully come to terms with his situation, but Q finds that he's more than willing to wait for things to settle, to wait before really working himself into some sort of fit.

And as to whether or not he wants to be with this beautiful man, this gorgeous man who will put up with Q's shite, and hold him close even though he's probably not very comfortable with physical proximity outside of sex- the wonderful man who will take the time out of his busy day to not only make Q some food but also to _drop it off_, just so that he knows that his lover has eaten atleast one meal a day-

-the same man who deserves to be loved so, _so_ much that it would _burn _to do anything else-

This time, Q's heart chimes up along with his brain-

_Yes._

* * *

"_Let me memorize your every pore-enshrine your very core-"_

If there's one thing that Q has learned about Bond in the course of their relationship, it's how to make him talk. More specifically, he's figured out exactly what to do when Bond is keeping something in and Q wants him to talk about it.

(Admittedly, it's a tad underhanded, because it's using the man's weakness for his own gains- but really, everyone benefits from a happy James Bond, so Q doesn't feel all that bad in the end.)

Which is why he finds himself in his boyfriend's lap on their first day off in God knows how long, his hole stretched tight around the man's cock and decidedly _not moving_.

"For the love of all things Holy," he pants into Bond's ear, half out of his mind with the need for orgasm but persisting in his endeavor, "_Just tell me._"

Bond simply grunts and strains to thrust up, even though he's thoroughly tied to the chair at all the right points so that he can't move an inch either which way.

"Really," Q says because it's been twenty bloody minutes of this and he would very much like to come now, "_Really_. We've been at this for how long and you're still going to try for that?"

He very much wants to just start with the whole sex bit, wants Bond to slam him against a wall and screw him until he's screaming-it's just that he wants the man to _talk to him_, more than he wants all that and this is the only way he knows how to make him.

Meanwhile, said boyfriend just sits there like a giant, stupid lug and refuses to tell him what's wrong- because he likes to pretend that he is stoic and has no pesky _emotions_, _ugh_, and would rather _die _than talk about them. Possibly _literally_.

"Oh, _fuck me_," Q groans out, letting his head fall forward onto the other man's shoulders.

"I was _going _to," Bond snarks, deigning to speak for the first time since the whole thing started, "Except, somehow, I find myself unable to because certain people have made it _physically impossible_."

"Well if you'd just tell me what's going on without me having to resort to these measures," Q fires back, eyes narrowed even as he squirms uncomfortably, "then we wouldn't be here, would we?"

Bond just groans. "Jesus Christ," he grits out, "Why the hell is this so important to you?"

- and he doesn't mean it the way it sounds, he really doesn't; but sometimes, the words that come out of James Bond's mouth make Q want to bash his own head into a wall, or maybe even just bash _Bond's _head into a wall- but then again, he's always afraid that what few brain cells that Bond dedicates to matters such as this will be irreparably lost and then where would they be?

So Q just bares his teeth right back, sorts through the outrage, and rasps out, "_Because I am your boyfriend_, you stupid _arse_."

"And," he groans because Jesus, Bond feels bloody _huge _in him and it feels_ amazing _and he doesn't even know why he's doing this to himself anymore, "It may seem weird to your emotionally crippled self, but _I care when you're upset_. Don't really know why I bother, mind you, since you never seem to get it through your thick fucking _skull_. But there you have it."

He can barely breathe from wanting to just move and he's _gagging _to be fucked until he can barely walk- but the taken aback look on his boyfriend's face makes the ordeal almost worthwhile.

Almost.

Slowly and with the strain near visible on his face, Bond says, " So you're basically torturing the both of us because you want me to share my feelings with you. Is that right?"

And Q would take the opportunity to hit him because what the fuck does he think Q does this shit for? _Fun?_ But it looks like the man is actually chewing through the concept, like he's actually thinking it through instead of just dismissing it like he usually does.

About damned time, really.

Unfortunately (or maybe not), when he goes to say as much, it comes out as a moan of surprise- because apparently, while he was thinking on how stupid Bond can be, the man had been cutting himself loose with-

"Is that, is that a _paper clip_?" he yelps out even as Bond surges upward, picking Q up in the process and beginning to walk them to their bed- because what _even_.

"I always keep one handy," Bond purrs out in response, "I find that they're highly useful."

It takes a minute for Q to respond, because he's too busy clinging on for dear life; he's too busy burying his face into Bond's thick shoulders and trying his very best not to whimper with each step that the man takes.

"Where the hell did you even hide that thing?" he mumbles after a while because seriously, the man has been naked since about an hour ago.

"In my left inner cheek," Bond says brightly before abruptly throwing Q down, "spat it out into my hand while you were busy wondering when your life had gone so irreparably sideways."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Q grunts out, and he can't even be bothered to keep the incredulous awe from his voice, "I think I _just _realized exactly what sort of man I'm dating."

"A little slow on the uptake, but I forgive you," Bond smugly returns, before covering Q's body with his own.

Beyond that point, Q's life is nothing but hanging on for dear life, being split apart and put back together at the hands of a man who'd captured his fucking heart just to give him an ulcer, Q is sure- and all he can do about it is scream, back arching as Bond pushes into him, both literally and not.

In return, he brands the man with fingernails at his back, through bruises on his lips, through cum and sweat on all that gorgeous, scarred skin- reclaims him for his own, to cherish, to keep safe and as unharmed as he can possibly make happen.

The last thing he does as he finally comes down, is to press a kiss to the only part of Bond that he can reach, right where his heart resides, where it's still beating a little too quickly to be considered normal- and then he's out, fading into the satisfied sleep of the well fucked.

**o.O.o.O.o**

"I love you, you know," Bond whispers the next morning, quiet and _guilty _even as he curls around Q and pulls him close, "_I love you, _God, _so much_."

Q is still too sleepy to be properly functioning, but he still understands the sentiment, because hadn't he been there himself, just a few short weeks ago? He wants to pull the man close, maybe kiss his forehead, and tell him that everything will be ok- wants to tell him that he has nothing to worry about because everything is alright.

He doesn't, because he doesn't want to lie.

Romance aside, true, honest love is a liability in a profession like theirs- because there will always be some bastard out there who will use it as a weapon and there really isn't much that can be done about that.

Q knows that _Bond _knows that better than anyone else, and he knows empty platitudes would just be insulting.

So he doesn't offer any.

He does, however, pull the other man's face closer to his own and plant a kiss on his forehead-does his absolute best to smooth away the worried, pinched look from that precious, beloved face- and he looks James Bond in the eye and says, very seriously-

"_Really_. _That's _what you woke me up for?"

In reality, he wants to say something more meaningful, wants to pull the man close and crawl into his skin until he's made himself a proper home. But, he thinks as he watches Bond slowly but surely relax, curling into his shoulder with a soft chuckle- that can wait until the other man is more mentally prepared for it.

Besides, he's pretty sure that Bond understands, that he hears it even without anything being said- better still, Q plans on spending the next few years making sure that every action, every word, touch, kiss- says one thing, loud and clear:

_I love you, too._

Fifty or so years should be enough time to make his point, he figures, before moving his estimation upwards a little- because he's in love with an emotionally stunted moron and such things have to be accounted for, now.

* * *

I actually don't know what I'm doing, anymore.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed. :) Also, I'm thinking of making this into a series. I don't know. But I figured that maybe if you guys can give me scenarios, I can cluster them into pockets of 4 and create more of these. What do you think? **R and R, please!**


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